The Poor Clown

The Poor Clowns

They came pouring in
Like ants out of a hill,
Big kids and little kids,
Even a Jack and Jill.
A ton of cotton candy
Melting in the heat,
Making little faces
Colorfully sticky sweet.
We started at sundown
Until the rising moon,
Animals, swords and hats
All tied up in balloons.
The lit’le kids, they presses us
Into our little tent,
Demanding balloon critters
No, they would not relent.
My fingers were hurting
Sweat rolled down my face;
I searched for an exit,
But there was no such place.
Finally we heard the call,
"Six-graders go to class!"
We breathed a sigh of relief,
Cause it had finally passed.
"Here come the preschoolers,"
With bullhorn shouted Jeffcoats;
I knew it was trouble,
When she grabbed me by my throat.
"You are not done yet!"
She shouted at this clown,
"Get back into your tent!
You haven’t earned your crown!"
And as I tie balloons,
My fingers are to the bone;
And I think of next year,
"Maybe I can go home?"